I went to the Paralympics yesterday. I went to the ClosingCeremony and sat in the back row. And then it was all over.
To the Olympic Stadium, one last time, came the eighty thousand. To a ceremony more about celebration than expectation, a last triumphant hurrah for London 2012. The athletes were escorted to their seats on the pitch well before the Ceremony began, while their flags entered far more swiftly than had been the case at the Opening's parade, which was appreciated. I was disappointed to discover I was sitting in the very back row of the Stadium - that's row 75 - especially given that I hadn't paid the rock bottom price. But it turned out there was a plus to being at the back, almost directly opposite the central stage, because there was an excellentpanorama across the whole stadium below. Binoculars were essential if I wanted to see anything at a human level, so several portions of the ceremony only made sense when I watched a recording off the TV afterwards. But many of the photos you'll see in your newspapers today were taken from almost-adjacent seats, only by folk with far mightier lenses.
And one other bonus. Everyone in the grandstands had been asked to stay seated throughout the ceremony, so that the pixels located between each seat weren't obscured and the overall lighting effect diminished. In the back row we could stand whenever we liked without blocking anything, so we did, whenever an uplifting moment arrived. But not everybody did as they were told, and above you can see one persistently upstanding section of crowd wrecking the display behind the mechanical fish. After about forty minutes the ceremony turned into a Coldplay concert, which wasn't what I'd been anticipating when I bought my ticket a year ago. It worked best if you concentrated on the amazing fiery spectacles around the arena, and not so much on the album filler, but several crowd-pleasing classics had us rapt. Para-para-paradise, which was highly Para-appropriate. And Rihanna, obviously.
The Mayor got a spontaneous cheer when he passed on our flag, and a "yay Boris" from the first-time voter sat to my left. Then came the speeches, and the Rio bit, and the nagging feeling that something unique was about to end. As the arms of the cauldron lowered for the final time an alternative light source appeared, that of thousands of audience members raising their cameras and smartphones into the air to capture the flame's passing. And at the end of the evening came the fireworks, which sounded fantastic but of which I saw almost nothing, sat at the back shielded by the roof and a row of flags. It was a very long way down and out, as the athletes swiftly dispersed and the crowds shuffled off to join the queues at Stratford station. But I didn't mind being one of the last ones out, lingering amidst the empty aisles and having space to remember. From industrial estate to global focus, from skip-hire warehouse to field of dreams. I left the stadium to its unknown future, and headed back to reality.
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday. I went to the final evening of athletics in the Olympic Stadium. The very final evening, before the sport switches to football.
Athletics - the event: 15 athletics finals • Conditions for the athletics were perfect, with temperatures at 25 degrees and barely a breeze. I was sat in a decent seathigh above the heart of the action, sandwiched between a pair of serial Games-attenders and an elderly local couple. We chatted, they Mexican-waved, and we all agreed that the claret and blue sunset was a portent of a West Ham future to come. • You were probably tuned in for Oscar, but we had fourteen other events to watch. Races on the track were generally brief, if thrilling, so a lot of our attention was turned to the field. Here the crowd-pleasing event was the men's high jump, which delivered clearly-defined nuggets of excitement as each competitor attempted to leap clear. We cheered each success and mourned each disappointment, even roared with approval when we should have been focused on a medal ceremony. The winning Polish athlete was spurred on to break the F46 world record in a series of additional jumps after he'd already won the gold medal. And we gave him such a reception on the podium that you could see he was bursting with appreciative emotion. Not even Oscar earned that, because we thought Maciej deserved it more. • Nobody really watched the javelin final - it carried on outside the spotlight for almost the entire evening. We had a Welsh competitor, but when he failed to qualify nothing was ever mentioned of him. But didn't we love the little Minis shuttling across the field returning each delivery - the stadium's very own Javelin service. • The only Government minister to risk presenting a medal was the Secretary of State for Sport, and he survived without incident. No such luck for the chairman of Ticketmaster, whose reception was a mixture of polite applause, loud booing and what sounded like mild cackling. Perhaps he hoped he'd be safe in front of a crowd who'd all managed to get tickets to a blue riband event, but it seems we'd all had bad enough online experiences that he deserved what he got. Sub-Chancellor levels of abuse, so nothing over-disrespectful, but hopefully a bit of a wake-up call. • I wasn't expecting a DJ, but someone behind the scenes was dropping music into the mix throughout the evening. There was nothing Heart or Smooth about their taste in tunes, more Absolute with a touch of 6 Music. Some Rolling Stones circa 1981, a bit of Goldfrapp, a burst of This Charming Man. When Depeche Mode's Just Can't Get Enough got an airing I grinned and clapped along, thankfully concealed by the fact that everyone else was applauding the high jump at the same time. • And yes, the evening rounded off with a record-breaking burst of Pistorius. The trackside commentator hyped him up too much, almost forgetting that any of the other competitors existed. But he burst down the home straight with aplomb (I was glad I'd bought my binoculars) to bring the London 2012 track and field events to a close. We loved his slow victory lap, bouncing with the South African flag beneath a succession of grandstands. And after a lengthy slew of Victory Ceremonies, rounded off by Oscar's gold, that was it. Less than half of us had stayed to the end, but we still roared our approval, and left buzzing. • Seven photos from the athletics
I went to the Paralympics on Friday. I had a Day Pass for the events at ExCel. And that's four more Paralympic sports ticked off.
Ah, the ExCel Day Pass, one of the bargains of the Games. For only £10 you could wander around a giant exhibition centre for twelve hours, popping in to watch four different sports (including several medal sessions). They might be some of the more obscure Paralympic sports, but that's not a bad thing if you want to see the true spirit of the Games. And it was unreserved seating throughout, pretty much, which meant I got some excellent close-up seats for a change in a variety of arenas. One grump - the lack of information about precisely what was taking place in each arena. On turning up at each spectator zone there was nothing to say what event was underway, nor what might be up next, nor how long it was until the next action. I knew to turn up at the Table Tennis at half past twelve for men's gold medal matches because I'd checked online, whereas all everyone else had was "Table Tennis 10:00-15:00". The central information booth only had photocopies of photocopies of photocopies of something over-general, plus a few specific printouts sellotaped to a board with all the key information in tiny type. It's as if the Games Makers at each Paralympic venue have been left to their own devices regarding how they provide session information, and some do a brilliant job, and some are rubbish.
Boccia - South Arena 1 In this little-known game, competitors who aren't especially mobile (or coordinated) play a ball-throwing game that's similar to bowls or petanque. Each player throws six balls - one player red, one blue - with a final score equal to the number of balls closest to the jack. I'm not sure I'd have worked the rules out by myself, so I'm indebted to the lady sat on my left for explaining all. In the games in front of me, both players were in wheelchairs and in need of help to move around, but still threw brilliantly to gain tactical advantage. In the game to my right, however, the players were so disabled that they couldn't even hold a ball. They had to knock the ball instead, using a stick attached to the top of their helmet, so that it rolled down a tubular ramp aimed by an assistant. Again, it was amazing how often the balls rolled to nigh exactly the right place. The judges performed all their directions and scoring in silence, using gestures and signals and coloured bats, which added to the unfamiliarity. But very tense, if you allowed yourself to get into watching it, and about as far from running a 100m race as you can imagine. Serious disability sport.
Wheelchair Fencing - North Arena 2 You might be imagining white-clad folk in wheelchairs whizzing up and down like knights at a mediaeval joust. The sword-wielding bit's true, but these athletes are going nowhere, their wheelchairs carefully bolted to the floor before competition begins. There are a lot of preparations - indeed the entire event's more set-up than play. Is everybody sitting the correct distance apart, check. Are both players wearing their heavy white conductive aprons, check? Does the coloured light flash up when someone scores a hit, check. Let's play. I got to watch the women's team quarter finals, which meant four simultaneous tournaments taking place within the same arena. Most of the audience were cheering on the British girls, despite them being invisible from our side of the arena except on the big screen. Trounced by Hong Kong, they were. Let's never speak of it again.
Sitting Volleyball - South Arena 2 This is ordinary volleyball, but with the levelling factor that every player competes with "at least one buttock in contact with the floor". This means it can be played by athletes with any number of legs - indeed the British men's team displays almost every different possible combination. Some walk onto the court, some shuffle, others crawl - then you'd hardly notice the difference when the game gets underway. Rallies are swift, the ball sometimes high in the air, sometimes dangerously near the ground. Thwack, lob, lob, thwack, pat, pass, lob, thwack, bounce, cheer. There's much yelling to team mates, a lot of co-operation, and plenty of backslapping when a point goes well. It is amazing to watch a team of six manoeuvring into position without standing up, and the physicality probably explains why this is a game for fired-up youngsters. Our hyped-up commentator was so busy enthusing the crowd that he completely failed to mention we were watching the wooden spoon match. We thought we were cheering Great Britain to glory, whereas in fact we were battling China for eighth place in the overall tournament. Straight sets defeat, but hey, the crowd went away loving it.
Table Tennis - North Arena 1 Played at elite level this is a fast and furious sport. But a tiny table in a huge arena doesn't make spectating easy. We had four finals matches to watch in two classes, so it was hard to know where to look. The scoring was complicated to unravel too, with simultaneous points in simultaneous games in simultaneous best-of-five matches. The broadcast cameras focused on the match between China and Germany, but that was pictures without words because the commentators weren't allowed to say anything while any game was underway. I was glad I'd had my London 2012 Commentary Radio (an over-ear mini plastic device tuned into arena-specific channels at every Olympic venue) because I could listen in to the audio description nobody else could hear. I think their price has recently been slashed (they're only £5 now), and they double up as FM radios after the Games have finished. Transmission carries far enough that I can listen to commentary from venues in the Olympic Park while sat at home in my living room! Commentary Radios were available from certain programme sellers at various venues, but dear LOCOG, these were appallingly marketed. Sorry, I know I'm offering this top tip too late, but I wish I'd bought mine earlier.
Me and London, we've been going out now for ten years.
It feels like forever, although I know it's nothing in the grand scheme of things.
We had a long courtship. I'd eyed her up from afar when I was young, seen her beauty, admired her style. I always looked up to her, as befits one's elders, and I learned to respect her maturity. As I grew older my feelings blossomed, and I yearned that one day we might be together. But as yet it was not to be.
I toyed with other partners along the way, but they never really worked out. I chanced my luck with several, even had a dalliance with one or two, but never really settled down. And all the time I was circling her, growing closer to her, planning my next move. Until at long last she noticed me, summoned me with a wink of her eye and invited me into her world.
I remember the day I finally moved in and crossed that long-imagined threshold. I turned up at her door with all my baggage, gave a broad smile, and unloaded. I couldn't believe my luck, that all those years of stalking had finally paid off.
I had to learn her ways, adapt to her behaviours, get used to her quirks. I became more keen to test her boundaries, to broaden my horizons, and to lose my small-town innocence. Some of her dirtier habits grossed me out to start with, but now I've grown used to them, even adopted some as my own.
We have lots of adventures together. I like to caress her outer features, the parts most other people never get to see. When I'm bored I like to delve through her extremities, explore her tubes, or go for a poke round her passages. Sometimes I'll suggest a weekend excursion together and she'll bubble with delight.
I don't think she ever sleeps. There's a buzz about her, an excitement, be it the middle of the day or the middle of the night. People come from far and wide to see her, such is her irresistible attraction, and everybody knows her name. But only a select few of us know her inside out, behind the private façade, all those secrets that make her tick.
I love to wake up with her in the morning, and my life feels empty when she's not there. On days when I'm feeling uninspired she has to nudge me into action, but one glance across her face reminds me how much she has to offer. When I'm tired of her, I know, I'll be tired of life.
We've developed a deep understanding between us, a true emotional attachment, a long term intimacy. And I guess that's why I decided all those years ago to display my affection for her every morning, without fail, for the whole world to see.
I never guessed me and her would last so long. But here we are still together, a decade on, and my passion is as strong as ever.
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday. I had a great seat in the Aquatic Centre above the diving pool. Unfortunately I was there to watch the swimming.
Swimming - the event: 15 swimming finals • Attending fifteen Paralympic swimming finals sounds great. A mix of men's and women's events, over the space of three and a bit hours, covering a wide variety of strokes and distances. Thrilling, but with just one catch - attending fifteen Victory Ceremonies. Each Victory Ceremony took five minutes to complete, or more like eight by the time the medallists had left the poolside, which meant we spent far longer applauding winners than watching races. Our cheers delivered collective heartfelt praise to all the winning athletes, but VC Fatigue had certainly set in by the end of the evening. • Last time I was in the Aquatic Centre, my view of the main pool was part-blocked by a stair rail. This time it was part-blocked by a lady's head, sat a knight's move in front of me, who insisted on leaning forward throughout the evening (presumably because her view was part-blocked too). If only the action had been closer I might have coped, but that's twice now I've been stuck up the diving pool end while all the action's been in the swimming pool. So I'm afraid I'm awarding the vertiginous grandstands of the Aquatic Centre my "worst view of the action at the Games" award. Thank goodness they're coming off when this place becomes Newham's newest swimming pool. • You could tell that most of the crowd weren't used to watching swimming. In the first 200m race they cheered frantically as the competitors approached the end of length two... only for the volume to suddenly drop when the first swimmer turned to start length three, oops. • We got a British victory to cheer, as young Josef Craig set a new world record in the S7 400m freestyle final. And then he left the pool on crutches, which goes to show how liberating the power of water can be. • Some venues in the Olympic Park are haunted by a roving fancam which alights on members of the audience and encourages them to perform. The commentator in the Aquatic Centre was particularly insistent on everyone joining in, even when some poor unfortunate soul wasn't watching the screen and didn't know they were 'on'. At one point he invited the crowd to turn to anyone who wasn't clapping along to Queen's We Will Rock You and demand of them why they weren't taking part. For those of us who don't do spontaneous (or enforced) jollity, this man was the devil incarnate. Thankfully the cameras couldn't reach the upper half of the grandstands, so those of us in the cheaper seats never once risked embarrassment. • In one 50m backstroke final, the bloke with no arms beat the blokes with some arms. Inspirational. • No Government minister risked turning up to present the medals or hand over some bouquets. Political balance was provided by local MP Lyn Brown and Mayoral Sidekick Daniel Moylan, while the chairman of Sainsbury's was also duly rewarded for his company's Games sponsorship. • Doesn't the Mexican national anthem go on a bit? • World Records fall thick and fast at the Paralympics. The Aquatic Centre had seen 106 before our session, then our batch of finals delivered another nine. In one brief backstroke race the victorious Ukrainian knocked 15 seconds off the previous record, that's a 20% reduction. Are Paralympians really performing so much better, or were the pre-London benchmarks less than robust? • The final Victory Ceremony of the session was postponed, for mysterious reasons, but fourteen was really quite enough.
What reopens when? » reopens Monday 10th September: the Lee Navigation Towpath (between Eastway and Stratford High Street) (hurrah!) » reopens Tuesday 11th September: The River Lee Navigation between Bow Locks and Lea Bridge Road (for boaters) » reopens Thursday 13th September:Pudding Mill Lane DLR station » reopens Friday 14th September: Stratford City bus station (97, 241, 338, D8) » reopens Saturday 22nd September: the car parks at Westfield Stratford City » reopens Saturday 1st December (ish): the Greenway between Wick Lane and Pudding Mill Lane » reopens Saturday 1st December (ish): the View Tube(hurrah!) » reopens Saturday 27th July 2013:Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park(northern half) » reopens Easter 2014: Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park (southern half) » reopens late 2014: the Greenway north of Stratford High Street (once Crossrail work is complete) » reopens 2016: the Bow Back Rivers (for boaters)
What's never reopening? » ceased trading Tuesday 4th September 2012:WaterChariots(don't say I toldyou so)
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday. I had a Day Pass for the Olympic Park. It was a perfect blueskygorgeoustastic day.
Wheelchair Rugby - Australia v Canada It's not much like rugby. There are no touchdowns, no conversions, no rules about throwing balls backwards. But "murderball" is a marvellously violent game, if you like that sort of thing, which the crowd in the Basketball Arena absolutely did. I don't think many of us knew what to expect, and the court doesn't give much away, just a big rectangle with two flat orange goals at either end. The idea is to enter the goal area carrying the ball, which scores a point, whilst simultaneously trying to thwack the hell out of anyone on the opposing team who tries the same. Think "angry dodgems". Only four of your players are allowed on the pitch at any one time, which you'd think would lead to unsatisfyingly small battles, but no so. Up and down the court they whizz, swirling and charging, evading and ramming, which looks spectacular when everyone's on wheels. Usually on wheels, that is. Occasionally a collision is so strong that the chair topples over, and the occupant has to wait to be righted by a support team with a big mat. This first time that happened we were shocked - the tenth it was all part of the entertainment. All the players have dysfunction in at least three limbs - most are quadriplegic - which makes the display of upper body strength all the more impressive. The Australian team in particular featured two hulking shaven-headed whirlwinds, for whom one imagines this sport is a great release. They did most of the donkey work while the other two (less able, to balance out the team) concentrated on defence. This often meant obstructing, even penning in, members of the Canadian attack so that they couldn't perform for a few crucial seconds. Didn't stop them, though. This was a tight match, and highly scoring, with both teams managing more than fifty goals in the space of 32 in-play minutes. We had a couple of wheel changes on court, indeed both teams have a welder waiting by the subs bench in case of brutal mechanical mishap. The game's great to watch - it makes football look tame and flows much better than its plain rugby counterpart. Whether GreatBritain have the talent of these two Commonwealth teams, however, remains in doubt, so don't expect to see prime-time murderball on your TV any time soon. » Seven photos from the wheelchair rugby
Wheelchair Tennis - Women's singles, Men's singles, Quad Doubles final It's very much like tennis. Same court, same ball, same singles and doubles tournaments. The sole difference in wheelchair tennis is that the ball is allowed to bounce a second time, which allows the players a few crucial extra seconds to get in place. Other than that, very much the same. And all the more astonishing for it. With two hands to turn your wheels and one to hold the racket, it takes sheer dexterity to be able to reach the right spot and then hit the ball accurately. And they do. Some of these rallies went on far longer than your average able-bodied "ace ace ace" gruntathon, and were much more satisfying to watch too. I got to watch three matches on Centre Court - that's at Eton Manor, up the Leyton end of the Park, and absolutely nowhere near Wimbledon. This is a bespoke Paralympic venue, with nine outdoor courts altogether, which is due to become a hockey and wheelchair tennis centre in legacy. Wednesday was a lovely day to be there, even if it was a bit breezy and chilly in the upper stands. I was sitting near the photographers - those brave folk whose giant lenses bring photos of slightly obscure Paralympic sport to your morning paper. It was a bit nerve-wracking to discover I was "this" close to the Daily Mail's photographer, but thankfully she was kept busy snap-snap-snapping every time a GB player hit the ball. The entire afternoon played out with representatives from only three countries. The women's singles semifinal was an all Dutch affair, with a whitewash for Esther Vergeer. She's a dominating force in wheelchair tennis, so much so that she's won 468 consecutive matches since 2003, with the 469th being the gold medal match later today. Match two was a men's singles quarter final, this time with Briton Gordon Reid facing the Netherlands contingent. He got vocal support from the Union Jack-bedecked supporters in the Paralympic Family stand, but that wasn't enough to prevent a straight sets defeat. Might as well stay for a third match, I thought, and that was three more hours gone. This was the Quad Doubles final, a rather closer affair between the US and Great Britain, maybe because two players on each side meant balls were more rarely missed. America's Nick Taylor used an electric wheelchair because of arm dysfunction, which also meant he had to serve by flicking the ball up with his feet - amazing. When the Victory ceremony came we stood for The Star-Spangled Banner, but thankfully no government minister risked turning up, we got minor royalty instead. » Seven photos from the wheelchair tennis
Goalball - Women's quarter finals It's not much like anything else, is goalball. A tiny pitch, where the goal extends the complete length of one side. A sport for the visually impaired, in which every athlete is blindfolded to ensure that levels of invisibility are consistent. And a ball with a bell in it so that players can hear it coming ("silence in the audience, quiet please"). Each team of three takes it in turns to throw the ball (or hurl, or slyly roll, depending). The server has to grasp the crossbar each time to orientate themselves, but even so it's astonishing how they almost always chuck in the right direction. The defending team has to sprawl out lengthways on the floor to try to prevent the approaching ball from entering the goal, and if you guess wrong then in it rolls. It doesn't roll in very often, not when the teams are world class, so for spectators there's a lot of blockage to watch and very little scoring. The Chinese women proved most adept, giving excited squeals whenever applause revealed they'd scored another against the USA. Matches don't last long, only two 12-minute halves, so if you're coming to the Copper Box make sure you don't turn up late. And don't bring a baby, or wear a jester's hat with bells on it, as certain thoughtless folk did yesterday. » A couple of photos from the goalball
7-a-side Football: The 5-a-side is for the visually impaired, and (so I'm told) impressive. The 7-a-side's just football.
Apparently the Paralympics are sold out. So why aren't they full?
Take the dressage, for example. For the Olympics the arena was packed, but for the Paralympics it's been no more than half full. And that's not because people haven't turned up, it's because only about half as many tickets have been sold. Someone made the decision, probably about a year ago, not to try to fill the Greenwich Park grandstands. This could be down to expectations. No Paralympics has ever come close to selling out before, so why risk trying to sell too many tickets (like Olympic Football) and ending up with an embarrassment of leftovers? Or it could be down to staffing. Only a certain number of Games Makers were trained for the Paralympics, and you can't suddenly magic more out of thin air when public interest climbs at the last minute. The arena didn't seem to be overflowing with purple-clad volunteers, certainly not enough to supervise a packed-out grandstand. Or it could be down to caution. There's been every opportunity to sell hundreds of additional tickets over the last few weeks, but that opportunity doesn't seem to have been grasped. Twenty three thousand seats altogether, but I'd be surprised if ten thousand of them were taken. Great for those of us who got tickets - no designated seats, plenty of choice, and the opportunity to switch location as often as we liked. I loved the freedom... but you didn't get in.
Take the archery, for example. The grandstands in Woolwich weren't full either, indeed nobody had bothered to open the top half of the main stand. Even the lower stands weren't anywhere near full when play began, nor for the first half hour, so surely tickets had been dramatically undersold? Then in they poured and filled up most of the spare spaces, part-obscuring that lovely clear view I'd had of all the action. It turned out the influx had been watching the pistol shooting, which had just finished, and their Day Pass allowed them to come and watch the archery as well. Day Passes are brilliant for spectators because they allow access to a wider range of sports than the Olympics ever delivered. But for this to work there have to be spare seats available at all venues, otherwise no flexibility is possible.
Take the cycling, for example. By the end of Saturday morning's three hour session, the Velodrome was packed. Even the front seats were full, because the Paralympics doesn't suffer from "Absent Olympic Family Syndrome" like the previous Games. But at the start of the session, not full at all. Each ticket makes it really clear when the start time of a session is, so ignorance can't be the reason. Instead it seems that a very large number of spectators are arriving at their venue late because they've underestimated how long it takes to walk the length of the Olympic Park. The Velodrome is twenty minutes walk from Stratford station, plus the time it takes to get through security, so it's terribly easy to misjudge how early you ought to arrive. The spectator guide posted out with the tickets clearly states "Aim to arrive at the Velodrome 75 minutes before your session", but that's such a ludicrous overestimate (8:15am for 9:30? fat chance) that I'm sure most ignored it. Somewhere in all the information mailed out to spectators, the reality of how to get to your seat in time has been poorly communicated.
Take the athletics, for example. Again, full to the back row, pretty much, for every session. That's not surprising, given that the Olympic Stadium must be the one venue LOCOG would have had the most confidence would sell out. But, as I've mentioned before, the empty seat problem becomes dramatically evident as each evening session draws on. Events are supposed to end around 10pm, although a majority of the crowd are vanishing well before that. Once the biggest event of the evening is over, off they trot. On Friday they stayed to see Hannah Cockcroft's gold medal awarded, then walked out and missed the 200m heats and a world record discus throw. On Saturday they stayed to watch Oscar Pistorious defeated, then walked out and missed David Weir's storming 5000m ride. Some will have had long distances to travel and important trains to catch, which is understandable. But the exodus goes well beyond last train issues, to an extent which suggests most people haven't turned up to watch a complete session, they've come to watch the best bits. I found it embarrassing and disrespectful when those last events played out to more empty seats than full (but then I'm a completist who can walk home at the end of the evening so I'm not exactly typical). Fear of queues at Stratford station must be drawing many out early, for those for whom transport comfort is more important than sporting attendance. But I'd say a significant contributory factor to premature departure is the lack of timetable for the athletics events in the stadium, which means it's rarely clear which events are to follow. The schedule rolls by on the scoreboard once, before the start of the session, then never again. It's not printed in the daily programme, nor is there a handout for spectators as is provided at Woolwich or Greenwich. Even the intended closing time of the session isn't clear, not when you're sat in the stadium. Were it more obvious what's on next, and what's still to come, until how late, people might hang around longer. It couldn't hurt to flash up the schedule more often, that's for sure. But no, when people want to leave they'll still leave, and so the audience inexorably fades away.
Who'd have guessed that the Paralympics would sell out - it's a triumph. But if you couldn't get a ticket, sorry, because these Games aren't full.
I didn't go to the Paralympics yesterday. I think I deserve a couple of days off. But that gives me time to tell you about Sunday in Woolwich.
Archery/Shooting - the venue: Royal Artillery Barracks, Woolwich Another part of southeast London, another chunk of public land acquired for the Games. For the pointy/shooty events that's the top end of Barrack Field and the bottom of Woolwich Common, where a road's been sealed off and a series of temporary structures erected. For archery that's three grandstands and a long green backscreen, nothing special. But for the shooting three futuristicblobby cuboids have been perched on the grass as if Woolwich were Tellytubbyland. Hardly. The larger two buildings (in terms of area) are the pistol and rifle ranges where the body of competition takes place. The other building is the tallest of the three, and that's the Finals Hall. This landmark building is decorated with random orange circles, inside which competitions requiring the largest audience take place, and which is kitted out for medalling. Spectators enter through one of the protruding holes (appropriately, next to the existing street sign for "Circular Way"). Inside are black-screened tunnels and metal staircases leading up and up and up to the main grandstand. This takes up the majority of the building, sloping down at what feels like 45 degrees to give everyone a clear view of the single line of shooters below. The targets are positioned inside a low annexe, rifle targets closer, pistol targets further away - the latter completely invisible from the rear of the stand except on big screens positioned on the front wall. Essentially the building's a giant cinema relaying (via a series of circular graphics) the micro-scaled competition taking place at ground level. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find behind the knobbly white façade, but it certainly wasn't this.
Archery - the event: Men's and Women'sIndividual Recurve - Standing (¼ finals) More by accident than design, archery's the only sport I'm due to see at both the Olympics and the Paralympics. And what a contrast. Olympic Archery took place on the pitch at Lords, in a rarefied atmosphere beside the famous pavilion. Paralympic Archery takes place in uptown Woolwich, a short distance from a blocky housing estate and an army barracks. But the sport itself, as you'd hope, was remarkably similar. The athletes emerge in pairs and take turns to fire sets of three arrows, until someone's won enough sets and the other is knocked out. We watched (and practised our mental arithmetic) as a variety of talents presented themselves. Some matches were astonishing displays of accuracy, lots of 10s and 9s, which is damned impressive at a distance of 70m. Others were a little more hit and miss, which might have been the wind, or might have been because these are only the quarter finals. The single British archer was wiped out in straight sets, much to the disappointment of the crowd who'd hoped to have more to cheer amongst a cavalcade of Pan-Asian athletes. But where Woolwich proved genuinely different was in the challenges being overcome by the participants. Although not all their disabilities were visible, many couldn't walk without support and shot all their arrows from a seated position. American Eric Bennett amazed the audience by firing his bow and arrow despite having only one arm. At first it looked as if he was holding the string in his teeth, but closer inspection revealed a hook strapped to his arm, and a release switch powered by his mouth. Wham, his first arrow was a 10, and a continuing talented performance led him safely to the semis. That's as far as he'd get, with the podium filled the following day by three Russians, but fourth in the world sure isn't bad.
Shooting - the event: Mixed Air Rifle ST SH2 Day Passes are wonderful tickets, concocted to try to ensure that Paralympic venues remain mostly full. In this case my Archery ticket allowed me into the shooting over the road, while others had Shooting tickets vice versa. Just as well, in this case, because the noon shooting final was so brief you'd have felt cheated to have paid for only that. By the time the Archery crowd had trooped across to the Finals Hall we'd already missed the film explaining how the scoring worked (Dear LOCOG, you play these too early, and only once - not ideal). So good were these rifle shooters that they invariably scored ten point something, with 10.9 being a "perfect score". All that we could do was wait while they all aimed, and watch to see each score appear on a target display, and applaud anything close to eleven. And oh, only ten shots each, so the whole thing was over in only twenty minutes. The session length was almost doubled by the medal presentation, performed with the usual aplomb we've come to expect from the LOCOG Ceremonies team. Away with the rifle stands, out with the staging, and to pass the time a Scots military band playing a bouncy Greensleeves. Again it was the walk, or otherwise, to the podium which revealed the reasons none of the medallists had been standing. Presentations; anthem; flags. And within minutes the big white cuboid was empty again, as it will be tomorrow after the final final... and then the temporary venue will be taken down and shipped elsewhere so that Woolwich Common can return to normal once more.
Shooting - the 'event': Mixed 25m Pistol Precision - Training It only said "training", but it was on the list of sessions so many of us wandered round to the blue bobbly building to spectate. Inside we found a very low grandstand facing a row of twelve seated shooters, so we sat in expectation. Visually speaking it wasn't the most exciting place to wait, not unless you liked watching numbers slowly appearing on screens. Audibly, however, blimey! The crack of gunfire when the first bloke fired his pistol was extreme, and over the next couple of minutes there were fifty-nine further shots to come. Although the rifles earlier had been relatively quiet, these pistols were like being at the heart of a Manhattan shootout. Too late I spotted that all the athletes and officials in here were wearing muffling headphones... including, thankfully, the girl who gave out the earplugs. One free gift for every spectator - very much appreciated - even if some wore them for only a few minutes before getting agitated (or bored) and wandering out. So, er, just training then. You see allsorts at these Paralympics, and I suspect I ain't seen nothing yet.
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday. But I'll tell you about that tomorrow. Because I still haven't finished Saturday yet.
Equestrian - the venue: Greenwich Park Some thought the hijacking of Greenwich Park for Olympic purposes would be a disaster. The corporate prostitution of a local asset... grass destroyed... trees chopped down... a Royal Park sealed off from the public for months. The last of these definitely happened, but most would argue that the locating London 2012's Equestrian events in Greenwich has been a triumph. The arena has a heritage backdrop second to none, and is much easier to reach from the Athletes Village than the Games' usual out-of town equestrian venue. Having said that, getting to Greenwich Park wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. First the nearest DLR station was closed, even for passengers travelling against the flow, in what felt like a vast logistical over-reaction. Then there was a 15 minute walk through the coned-off streets of Greenwich, which has mucked up through traffic something rotten, and which passes the aforementioned closed DLR station along the way. And then at the Old Royal Naval College something I wasn't expecting - huge queues.
This is the first Olympic or Paralympic venue I've been to which had proper, genuine, actual queues. Everything else has been straight in, or at most a brief wait, but this was a full half-hour hold-up. We started in pens round the back of the Painted Hall, then shuffled slowly forward in tranches towards the main road. Hats off to the Games Makers on duty for keeping us entertained, most especially to James whose witty droll delivery was the best I've heard all summer. Eventually we reached queues for eight footbridges, which turned out to be three, only to find further queues for security on the other side. I'm not saying half an hour's a bad time to wait, especially when there's a morning crowd to flush out of the stands before the afternoon session can begin. But I only just reached my seat in the grandstand in time, having missed all the introductory information... which would turn out to be very important.
But oh, what a good view. Clear sight of the equestrian arena laid out below, obviously. But the impressive bit was the scenic panorama all around, at least on sides not blocked by high level seating. The Greenwich Observatory up on the hill (only accessible from the non-Greenwich side at the moment, which can't be doing much for visitor numbers), the classical Queen's House as immediate backdrop to the field of play (very nice) and beyond that the towers of Docklands. I thought the view was good for the first hour, but because the event was "General admission" I thought I'd switch location for the second. A long walk around the perimeter brought me to the south stand, and a climb up to the almost-back seats where the official press photographers perch... and this was perfection. A royal Stuart mansion and a cluster of bankertowers were lined up ahead, with the Cutty Sark and Gherkin to one side and the Orbit and (squint) Olympic Stadium to the other. From up here in the gods it was obvious why LOCOG had picked Greenwich Park as a location, because the old/new vista said everything about London that a foreign tourist audience needed to hear. And it also gave me something to gawp at which wasn't the dressage, which was useful, because, well...
Equestrian - the event: Dressage (Individual Championship Test - Grade 1b) Dressage is a peculiar activity. It doesn't involve galloping or jumping over things, like your usual horse-related sport. Instead it's more like figure skating... except with hooves, and no skates, and no ice. Competitors need to be at one with their steed, which means huge amounts of painstaking practice, and then they have to walk (or trot) extremely precisely around a pre-determined course whilst simultaneously trying to make it all look entirely effortless. And that'd be fine, once or twice. But with every competitor attempting to do exactly the same thing, for five minutes, on fifteen consecutive occasions, for the entire session, the repetition can get a bit much.
It helps to be a horsey person. Then you can concentrate on the elegance, the poise, the "transition" between phases and what a fine specimen the mounted beast is. Everything adds up, or rather it's all averaged out over several disciplines to calculate a percentage to three decimal places, and the highest percentage wins. The judges sit in little wooden kiosks at key points around the rectangular corral, beside a series of non-consecutively lettered blocks. This being London 2012 the kiosks are decorated with purple and pink flowers, as are a number of other minor features within the arena. The decoration is so precise you could imagine the WI did it, although I bet LOCOG hired some professionals instead.
The key thing to know if you're a dressage spectator is the need to shut up. Horse and rider need hush in order to be able to concentrate, so a bell is rung at the start of each competitor's session to herald silence. Some horses need more reassurance than that, so a "companion horse" is led in to stand in the corner of the arena for five minutes, and then led out. Silence has to be maintained even afterthe end of each test, so the audience are only permitted to show their appreciation by waving frantically until the horse has been reunited with its trainer, and then applaud. A bunch of Australians cheered too early, no doubt enraptured by the excellent performance of their countrywoman, only to receive a polite dressing down from the commentator. And when a baby started crying mid-trot, you could see the tuts on the faces of the horsey people. Honestly! A baby! Who brings a baby to dressage!
And what of Saturday afternoon's competition itself? British Paralympian Lee Pearson was expected to win, because he's won this category at several Games in years gone by. His performance was rock solid, riding Gentleman, scoring 75 point something. And his performance stood, throughout several subsequent rounds of prancing, until the aforementioned Australian rode up and scored 75 point abitmore. Their performances all looked much the same to me, sat far away in the upper stand, but then I'm not a horsey person.
It was only at the final Victory Ceremony that the true nature of the athletes' achievements shone through. The three winning horses were led into the arena separately, while their riders hobbled in on crutches or rode on a mobility scooter. This was a sharp reminder of how riding a horse can be a real leveller - anything you can do, I can do too. Indeed it's even harder to control a horse with precision when one or more of your limbs doesn't work properly, so the achievements of these Paralympic dressage competitors were all the more impressive. We stood for the national anthem of Australia, those of us who were able, and then we smiled home.
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday. I went to two events in two completely different locations. I started in the Velodrome, which I'll tell you about below. And I'll tell you about venue two tomorrow.
Cycling - the venue: Velodrome Excuse me if I use the word iconic, but the curvaceous Velodrome is probably the most memorable chunk of architecture on the Olympic Park. Theroof's gained it the nickname of the Pringle, which would have been extremely clever marketing on behalf of official Olympic sponsor Procter & Gamble if only they hadn't sold the brand to Kellogg's a few months ago. It's also one of the hardest venues to get Paralympic tickets for, accommodating only 6000 spectators, which means that fewer than fifty thousand people will have got inside by the time it closes its doors this afternoon. They're peculiar doors too, designed more like an airlock. It's essential that conditions inside are warm and breeze-free, so doormen let you in first to a glass antechamber, close the outer door and then usher you into the greenhouse beyond. I wasn't expecting it to be 28 degrees inside. I'd dressed for autumn, so three hours of summer meant a swift trip to the water fountain was in order. Sales of water were brisk, although beer not so, probably because it was too early in the day.
The interior of the Velodrome has a real wowfactor, or at least it made me gasp silently when I entered. It's not the influence of the exterior structure that does it, indeed you probably couldn't guess the shape of the roof while sitting within. Instead it's the size of the place that feels unexpected, with that looping track edging right up to a ring of seating, and a large expanse in the centre where the workings of competition are revealed. Each competing country has its own small area of floor, a fenced off cubbyhole in direct proportion to the team's size. Cuba got a couple of chairs, whereas GB's area was youth-club-sized with laptop, slouching zone and a table stacked with gum and drinks. It'll be rather emptier in the middle when the place opens up in legacy, but lucky old London, this is a magnificent facility for the capital's future cyclists to enjoy.
Cycling - the event: Men's Individual B 1km Time Trial, Men's Individual C4 Pursuit, Men's Individual C5 Pursuit Blind cycling. It ought to be impossible, if you stop and think about it, especially on a tightly curved track. But it works, and fast, because each competitor rides a tandem with a pilot on the front. Eight pairs set out on the 1km ride early on Saturday morning, with the first two unlucky enough to have their chains fall off and need a restart. Britain's Neil Fachie, piloted by Barney Storey, whizzed round the track in world record time to hit gold medal position with one pair to go. It was expected that teammates Kappes and MacLean would be very strong contenders but they had one false start followed by another so were disqualified, their four-yearly opportunity lost. Neil and Barney grinned through the Victory Ceremony ("as is customary, for those who are able, please stand for the national anthem of Great Britain"), then showed off their medallions (diplomatically) back in the Team GB bikeshed.
Next on the track, the Individual 4km pursuit. That's 16 laps of the track at blistering pace, which would be tough enough for athletes with all their limbs, but these are Paralympians. Some athletes had shortened forearms so couldn't have reached normal handlebars, others had legs missing so were pedalling with their prosthetics. Britain's Jon-Allan Butterworth inspired the crowd with another world record breaking performance, then raised one and a half arms to the crowd in celebration. His Guinness Book place lasted no more than fifteen minutes before Australia's Michael Gallagher swiped back the honour J-AB had merely borrowed. It's a damned fast track here at the Velodrome, so fastest-ever times in several categories are getting rather commonplace. A round of applause to the commentary team, who managed to stay the right side of entertaining and informative throughout. And also to the DJ, or whoever it was selected the thumping background music, with a a soundtrack ranging from Ill Manors to Led Zeppelin via The Smiths.
It's futuristic-looking stuff, this racing lark, all multi-coloured lycra, filled-disc wheels and streamlined helmets. The crowd were inspired to cheer loudly, generating the famous Velodrome roar, although their enthusiasm tailed off rather as the morning continued. The very first race was deafening throughout, but by the end the cyclists were rotating in relative silence. It is remarkably hard work to keep up applause and cheering through a succession of four minute heats, so the commentators occasionally had to remind us that we were here to provide an atmosphere. Britain's Jody Cundy got full support, as he sped round in the pursuit pedalling with his Union Jack prosthetic leg. He was back in the Velodrome following a ranty incident on Friday best forgotten, and produced what looked like an unbeatable sprint, except it only led to bronze. We can't win everything, and didn't, but Britain's track cycling record continues its medal winning ways.
I went to the Paralympics yesterday. I went back to the Stadium to watch the evening's Athletics. And, unlike 90% of the audience, I stayed until the last throw.
Athletics: Men's 100m T13, Men's 100m T35, Men's 200m T37, Men's 5000m T54, Men's Long Jump F42/44, Men's Discus F57/58, Men's Shot Put F52/53, Women's 100m T34, Women's 200m T35, Women's Discus F40, Men's 200m T46 They cram a heck of a lot of events into a Paralympic athletics session. Partly that's the nature of athletics, and partly it's because there are umpteen different disability classifications, which means there are 11 different men's shot put competitions and 14 different women's 100m finals. We got one of each last night, and much more besides, so it was important to make sure you were watching the right part of the field of play. The men's seated shot put was overlooked for the most part, and the "women of short stature" discus ignored unless nothing else was happening. It was the running, or wheelchairing, that most of the crowd wanted to see, and to get excited about. When the men's 5000m T54 heats came along, that meant cheering for GB star athlete David Weir. Round and round the track he whizzed, as the girl to my right became increasingly excited almost to the point of implosion. So gripped was the crowd by lap 10 that they completely missed the world record one-legged long jump taking place in the sandpit just in front - a magnificent springy leap. But then there are a lot of world records at a Paralympic athletics event, again because there are so many categories to score a world record in, and I think we saw nearly ten last night. If we were looking in the right direction, that is.
The packed-outcrowd was heavily laden with Union Jacks, hence quite partisan, though not afraid to cheer on a blatant underdog limping late towards the finishing line. And yet sometimes I did feel they weren't there to watch sport, they were there to watch the GB team progress to glory. When one British athlete came last in his heat the girl to my right described it as the saddest thing she'd ever seen - when another squeaked feebly into the final as the fastest qualifier the crowd went briefly wild. There was justifiable joy when Hannah Cockcroftstormed home in the T34 100m, and collective pride at the victory ceremony later when we all got to stand for (sniff) God Save The Queen. That seemed to be the signal for a large part of the crowd to leave, despite there still being an hour of competition to go. It can't have been late trains, it was barely ten o'clock, it can only have unwillingness to stay out on a weeknight. By the time the final 200m heats were underway about half the seats were empty, and by the final medal ceremony almost three-quarters. All credit to the stadium's designers for ensuring that even a depleted crowd can raise a massive roar, which must be hugely more than Paralympic athletes normally experience, but still somewhat disrespectful. The final hurl of the evening was in the wheelchair discus, a massive world record throw beyond 60m, but only 10% of us were left to see it. There were so many inspirational performances over three hours last night, far more than able-bodied athletics ever provides, but alas the audience displayed rather less dedication and staying power.
I've been back in the Olympic Park for the Paralympics. So, what's changed?
• new symbols (far fewer people are queueing to have their photo taken by the giant agitos) • new venues (Eton Manor opens for Wheelchair Tennis) (Football on the hockey warm-up pitch) [photo] • new Olympic Park map (because different venues in the park are open) • new digital signs for those with Day Passes (there might be seats, there might not) • new sponsors (Otto Bock, with a pavilion tucked away at the back of World Square) • new batch volunteers (still cheery, chirpy and absolutely marvellous)
• more wheelchairs (which is to be expected, but cheering) • more British (the park's now a family day out, with far fewer international visitors) • more metal barriers (but too late to protect some of the flowers and planted areas beyond) [photo] • more celebs (I spotted Jay Rayner eating noodly stuff from a box near the Velodrome) • more Mandeville (appearing at the bandstand, and at the new "Mascot House") [photo][photo] • more flowers (the wild flower mix in the southern Park is now glorious) [photo][photo]
• less flowers (much of the colour has faded in the northern Park) [here's anexception] • less TV studios (BBC Sport gone, NBC replaced by a mini tennis court) • less people on the lawns watching the big screen (the Olympics packed them in, the Paralympics don't quite)
The Docklands Light Railway is 25 years old today. The Queen went for a ride back in July 1987, but it wasn't until 31st August that the general public came aboard. The London Docklands Development Corporation wasn't expecting their fledgling railway to be quite such a big hit. The first trains had only one carriage, the platforms were little more than elevated shelters, and there were only two shortlines. Both ran to Island Gardens, the green line from Tower Gateway and the red line from Stratford, with both following former or existing railway lines for much of their length. Trains ran every seven and a half minutes during the day, which on the Stratford stretch is better than we sometimes get today. There was no Canary Wharf development at the time, except on the drawing board, so the tracks curved like a monorail across docks that still echoed East London's maritime trading past.
A heck of a lot's changed on the DLR since those early days. Six new extensions have been built, tracks have been realigned, stations moved and trains extended. So much change indeed that it's hard to find much evidence of 1987 out there at all. I've been out trying to uncover some, probably inexpertly, and I'm sure you'll tell me what I've got wrong or missed out. But I do know that the three stations which most resemble their original selves are on the Stratford branch, including my local station Bow Church. Let's have a look around the network for evidence...
Red line Stratford: Terminus of the 25-year-old railway, but the too-small single platform was completely replaced by a grander structure in the summer of 2007. Pudding Mill Lane: Not an original station. Was added, in a safeguarded loop, in January 1996. Scheduled for Crossrail-related rebirth next year. Bow Church: A true original, although dressed up and extended since. The giant grey shelter above the entrance is 21st century, but the brick kiosk between the lift entrances is original. One of the large white globe lights remains, the other recently disappeared presumed smashed. It's the platforms that would feel most familiar to 25-year-old passengers, even though they've been extended to two carriages and then three since [photo]. The curved blue roof covering used to be commonplace at all DLR stations, now it's rare, although only the section nearest Bow Road is original [photo]. But for the best example of ye olde 1987, check at the bottom of the stairs at the entrance to the southbound platform. One staff telephone remains, securely locked inside a metal casing, with "For Docklands Light Railway employees only" on a red and blue background in the original font. Devons Road: A short distance down the line, somewhere you'd never go unless you were local, another original. Designwise it's the twin of Bow Church, although the street level entrance is narrower and split level, and as yet unaugmented by an overarching shelter. Again the platform has blue curving shelters, which have survived because the station abuts the road so can only be extended southward [photo]. And yay, there's another original staff telephone, in an identical position, in case you have a key and want to ring in to some long unstaffed HQ. Langdon Park: A recent addition, again in a safeguarded location, opened as recently as December 2007. All Saints: The third of the 25-year-old survivors, and similar in style to the other two - brick kiosk, narrow stairs, curved blue shelters, ancient staff telephone. And one huge change since 1987 visible from the asymmetric platforms - the towers of Canary Wharf poking above the local housing estates. [photo] Poplar: The hub of the DLR network, then as now, although the "Delta Junction" close by has since been replaced by a spaghetti junction of flyovers. Wholly restructured in 1994 to accommodate the Beckton extension. West India Quay: An early rebuild, extended in 1993 from two short to four longer platforms. Canary Wharf: Was due to open in 1987, but emerging plans for Docklands meant it was already being redesigned when the rest of the line opened, and the six platform trainshed didn't see service until 1991. Check the two fire escape staircases at each end of the station, because they're still labelled with 21-year-old signs reading "Push Bar To Open" and "Warning Automatic Railway Electrified Tracks". Not quite original, but a lovely echo of the past. [photo] Heron Quays: Entirely rebuilt as part of the Lehman Brothers building between September 2001 and December 2002. South Quay: Entirely rebuilt alongside a less bendy section of track in 2009, to accommodate three-carriage trains. Crossharbour: Almost original, but not - it's been revamped. Mudchute and Island Gardens: Nothing remains of the originalDLRstations, built atop the viaduct of the old Millwall Extension Railway, although the viaduct remains through Millwall Park. Reopened at ground level/underground in 1999 when the DLR extension to Lewisham was completed.
Green line Tower Gateway: The platforms suffered a complete rebuild recently to accommodate one long train rather than two shorter trains. But the domed entrance up via the escalators from Tower Hill, that's pretty much original, and still very of its time. [photo] Bank: No no no, this was the first DLR extension in 1991 (which famously cost millions more than the entire original network four years earlier). Shadwell, Limehouse and Westferry: Sort-of original, but each relentlessly extended and upgraded (including new canopies) so that 1980s features are very hard to find. West India Quay to Island Gardens: as above
Some might argue that the DLR's 25th birthday, at the height of the Paralympics, is its finest hour. A 100%-accessible railway linking almost every important Paralympic venue... if it hadn't existed LOCOG might have needed to build it from scratch. The DLR recorded its highest ever ridership earlier this month - more than half a million passengers in one day - and made travelling to the Games an absolute breeze. Those of us who live round here sometimes take its simplicity and reliability for granted, whereas we should instead realise how lucky we are to have this child of the 80s on our doorstep.
As the DLR's silver jubilee passes, the only sad thing is that there are currently no serious plans to extend the network any further. With political and economic considerations stifling growth I guess we'll have to make do with excellence over aspiration... on the 25-year-old train that Londoners still can't resist sitting up front and pretending to drive.
I went to the Paralympics again yesterday.
• The only Government minister to risk presenting a medal was the Secretary of State for Sport, and he survived without incident. No such luck for the chairman of Ticketmaster, whose reception was a mixture of polite applause, loud booing and what sounded like mild cackling. Perhaps he hoped he'd be safe in front of a crowd who'd all managed to get tickets to a blue riband event, but it seems we'd all had bad enough online experiences that he deserved what he got. Sub-Chancellor levels of abuse, so nothing over-disrespectful, but hopefully a bit of a wake-up call.
In this little-known game, competitors who aren't especially mobile (or coordinated) play a ball-throwing game that's similar to bowls or petanque. Each player throws six balls - one player red, one blue - with a final score equal to the number of balls closest to the jack. I'm not sure I'd have worked the rules out by myself, so I'm indebted to the lady sat on my left for explaining all. In the games in front of me, both players were in wheelchairs and in need of help to move around, but still threw brilliantly to gain tactical advantage. In the game to my right, however, the players were so disabled that they couldn't even hold a ball. They had to knock the ball instead, using a stick attached to the top of their helmet, so that it rolled down a tubular ramp aimed by an assistant. Again, it was amazing how often the balls rolled to nigh exactly the right place. The judges performed all their directions and scoring in silence, using gestures and signals and coloured bats, which added to the unfamiliarity. But very tense, if you allowed yourself to get into watching it, and about as far from running a 100m race as you can imagine. Serious disability sport.
This is ordinary volleyball, but with the levelling factor that every player competes with "at least one buttock in contact with the floor". This means it can be played by athletes with any number of legs - indeed the British men's team displays almost every different possible combination. Some walk onto the court, some shuffle, others crawl - then you'd hardly notice the difference when the game gets underway. Rallies are swift, the ball sometimes high in the air, sometimes dangerously near the ground. Thwack, lob, lob, thwack, pat, pass, lob, thwack, bounce, cheer. There's much yelling to team mates, a lot of co-operation, and plenty of backslapping when a point goes well. It is amazing to watch a team of six manoeuvring into position without standing up, and the physicality probably explains why this is a game for fired-up youngsters. Our hyped-up commentator was so busy enthusing the crowd that he completely failed to mention we were watching the wooden spoon match. We thought we were cheering Great Britain to glory, whereas in fact we were battling China for eighth place in the overall tournament. Straight sets defeat, but hey, the crowd went away loving it.
• Attending fifteen Paralympic swimming finals sounds great. A mix of men's and women's events, over the space of three and a bit hours, covering a wide variety of strokes and distances. Thrilling, but with just one catch - attending fifteen Victory Ceremonies. Each Victory Ceremony took five minutes to complete, or more like eight by the time the medallists had left the poolside, which meant we spent far longer applauding winners than watching races. Our cheers delivered collective heartfelt praise to all the winning athletes, but VC Fatigue had certainly set in by the end of the evening.
• Some venues in the Olympic Park are haunted by a roving fancam which alights on members of the audience and encourages them to perform. The commentator in the Aquatic Centre was particularly insistent on everyone joining in, even when some poor unfortunate soul wasn't watching the screen and didn't know they were 'on'. At one point he invited the crowd to turn to anyone who wasn't clapping along to Queen's We Will Rock You and demand of them why they weren't taking part. For those of us who don't do spontaneous (or enforced) jollity, this man was the devil incarnate. Thankfully the cameras couldn't reach the upper half of the grandstands, so those of us in the cheaper seats never once risked embarrassment.
It's not much like rugby. There are no touchdowns, no conversions, no rules about throwing balls backwards. But "murderball" is a marvellously violent game, if you like that sort of thing, which the crowd in the Basketball Arena absolutely did. I don't think many of us knew what to expect, and the court doesn't give much away, just a big rectangle with two flat orange goals at either end. The idea is to enter the goal area carrying the ball, which scores a point, whilst simultaneously trying to thwack the hell out of anyone on the opposing team who tries the same. Think "angry dodgems". Only four of your players are allowed on the pitch at any one time, which you'd think would lead to unsatisfyingly small battles, but no so. Up and down the court they whizz, swirling and charging, evading and ramming, which looks spectacular when everyone's on wheels. Usually on wheels, that is. Occasionally a collision is so strong that the chair topples over, and the occupant has to wait to be righted by a support team with a big mat. This first time that happened we were shocked - the tenth it was all part of the entertainment. All the players have dysfunction in at least three limbs - most are quadriplegic - which makes the display of upper body strength all the more impressive. The Australian team in particular featured two hulking shaven-headed whirlwinds, for whom one imagines this sport is a great release. They did most of the donkey work while the other two (less able, to balance out the team) concentrated on defence. This often meant obstructing, even penning in, members of the Canadian attack so that they couldn't perform for a few crucial seconds. Didn't stop them, though. This was a tight match, and highly scoring, with both teams managing more than fifty goals in the space of 32 in-play minutes. We had a couple of wheel changes on court, indeed both teams have a welder waiting by the subs bench in case of brutal mechanical mishap. The game's great to watch - it makes football look tame and flows much better than its plain rugby counterpart. Whether Great Britain have the talent of these two Commonwealth teams, however, remains in doubt, so don't expect to see prime-time murderball on your TV any time soon.
It's very much like tennis. Same court, same ball, same singles and doubles tournaments. The sole difference in wheelchair tennis is that the ball is allowed to bounce a second time, which allows the players a few crucial extra seconds to get in place. Other than that, very much the same. And all the more astonishing for it. With two hands to turn your wheels and one to hold the racket, it takes sheer dexterity to be able to reach the right spot and then hit the ball accurately. And they do. Some of these rallies went on far longer than your average able-bodied "ace ace ace" gruntathon, and were much more satisfying to watch too. I got to watch three matches on Centre Court - that's at Eton Manor, up the Leyton end of the Park, and absolutely nowhere near Wimbledon. This is a bespoke Paralympic venue, with nine outdoor courts altogether, which is due to become a hockey and wheelchair tennis centre in legacy. Wednesday was a lovely day to be there, even if it was a bit breezy and chilly in the upper stands. I was sitting near the photographers - those brave folk whose giant lenses bring photos of slightly obscure Paralympic sport to your morning paper. It was a bit nerve-wracking to discover I was "this" close to the Daily Mail's photographer, but thankfully she was kept busy snap-snap-snapping every time a GB player hit the ball. The entire afternoon played out with representatives from only three countries. The women's singles semifinal was an all Dutch affair, with a whitewash for Esther Vergeer. She's a dominating force in wheelchair tennis, so much so that she's won 468 consecutive matches since 2003, with the 469th being the gold medal match later today. Match two was a men's singles quarter final, this time with Briton Gordon Reid facing the Netherlands contingent. He got vocal support from the Union Jack-bedecked supporters in the Paralympic Family stand, but that wasn't enough to prevent a straight sets defeat. Might as well stay for a third match, I thought, and that was three more hours gone. This was the Quad Doubles final, a rather closer affair between the US and Great Britain, maybe because two players on each side meant balls were more rarely missed. America's Nick Taylor used an electric wheelchair because of arm dysfunction, which also meant he had to serve by flicking the ball up with his feet - amazing. When the Victory ceremony came we stood for The Star-Spangled Banner, but thankfully no government minister risked turning up, we got minor royalty instead.
It's not much like anything else, is goalball. A tiny pitch, where the goal extends the complete length of one side. A sport for the visually impaired, in which every athlete is blindfolded to ensure that levels of invisibility are consistent. And a ball with a bell in it so that players can hear it coming ("silence in the audience, quiet please"). Each team of three takes it in turns to throw the ball (or hurl, or slyly roll, depending). The server has to grasp the crossbar each time to orientate themselves, but even so it's astonishing how they almost always chuck in the right direction. The defending team has to sprawl out lengthways on the floor to try to prevent the approaching ball from entering the goal, and if you guess wrong then in it rolls. It doesn't roll in very often, not when the teams are world class, so for spectators there's a lot of blockage to watch and very little scoring. The Chinese women proved most adept, giving excited squeals whenever applause revealed they'd scored another against the USA. Matches don't last long, only two 12-minute halves, so if you're coming to the Copper Box make sure you don't turn up late. And don't bring a baby, or wear a jester's hat with bells on it, as certain thoughtless folk did yesterday.
Another part of southeast London, another chunk of public land acquired for the Games. For the pointy/shooty events that's the top end of Barrack Field and the bottom of Woolwich Common, where a road's been sealed off and a series of temporary structures erected. For archery that's three grandstands and a long green backscreen, nothing special. But for the shooting three futuristic blobby cuboids have been perched on the grass as if Woolwich were Tellytubbyland. Hardly. The larger two buildings (in terms of area) are the pistol and rifle ranges where the body of competition takes place. The other building is the tallest of the three, and that's the Finals Hall. This landmark building is decorated with random orange circles, inside which competitions requiring the largest audience take place, and which is kitted out for medalling. Spectators enter through one of the protruding holes (appropriately, next to the existing street sign for "Circular Way"). Inside are black-screened tunnels and metal staircases leading up and up and up to the main grandstand. This takes up the majority of the building, sloping down at what feels like 45 degrees to give everyone a clear view of the single line of shooters below. The targets are positioned inside a low annexe, rifle targets closer, pistol targets further away - the latter completely invisible from the rear of the stand except on big screens positioned on the front wall. Essentially the building's a giant cinema relaying (via a series of circular graphics) the micro-scaled competition taking place at ground level. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find behind the knobbly white façade, but it certainly wasn't this.
Archery - the event: Men's and Women's Individual Recurve - Standing (¼ finals)
Shooting - the event: Mixed Air Rifle ST SH2
Some thought the hijacking of Greenwich Park for Olympic purposes would be a disaster. The corporate prostitution of a local asset... grass destroyed... trees chopped down... a Royal Park sealed off from the public for months. The last of these definitely happened, but most would argue that the locating London 2012's Equestrian events in Greenwich has been a triumph. The arena has a heritage backdrop second to none, and is much easier to reach from the Athletes Village than the Games' usual out-of town equestrian venue. Having said that, getting to Greenwich Park wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. First the nearest DLR station was closed, even for passengers travelling against the flow, in what felt like a vast logistical over-reaction. Then there was a 15 minute walk through the coned-off streets of Greenwich, which has mucked up through traffic something rotten, and which passes the aforementioned closed DLR station along the way. And then at the Old Royal Naval College something I wasn't expecting - huge queues.
Equestrian - the event: Dressage (Individual Championship Test - Grade 1b)
And what of Saturday afternoon's competition itself? British Paralympian Lee Pearson was expected to win, because he's won this category at several Games in years gone by. His performance was rock solid, riding Gentleman, scoring 75 point something. And his performance stood, throughout several subsequent rounds of prancing, until the aforementioned Australian rode up and scored 75 point abitmore. Their performances all looked much the same to me, sat far away in the upper stand, but then I'm not a horsey person.
Excuse me if I use the word iconic, but the curvaceous Velodrome is probably the most memorable chunk of architecture on the Olympic Park. The roof's gained it the nickname of the Pringle, which would have been extremely clever marketing on behalf of official Olympic sponsor Procter & Gamble if only they hadn't sold the brand to Kellogg's a few months ago. It's also one of the hardest venues to get Paralympic tickets for, accommodating only 6000 spectators, which means that fewer than fifty thousand people will have got inside by the time it closes its doors this afternoon. They're peculiar doors too, designed more like an airlock. It's essential that conditions inside are warm and breeze-free, so doormen let you in first to a glass antechamber, close the outer door and then usher you into the greenhouse beyond. I wasn't expecting it to be 28 degrees inside. I'd dressed for autumn, so three hours of summer meant a swift trip to the water fountain was in order. Sales of water were brisk, although beer not so, probably because it was too early in the day.
Cycling - the event: Men's Individual B 1km Time Trial, Men's Individual C4 Pursuit, Men's Individual C5 Pursuit
They cram a heck of a lot of events into a Paralympic athletics session. Partly that's the nature of athletics, and partly it's because there are umpteen different disability classifications, which means there are 11 different men's shot put competitions and 14 different women's 100m finals. We got one of each last night, and much more besides, so it was important to make sure you were watching the right part of the field of play. The men's seated shot put was overlooked for the most part, and the "women of short stature" discus ignored unless nothing else was happening. It was the running, or wheelchairing, that most of the crowd wanted to see, and to get excited about. When the men's 5000m T54 heats came along, that meant cheering for GB star athlete David Weir. Round and round the track he whizzed, as the girl to my right became increasingly excited almost to the point of implosion. So gripped was the crowd by lap 10 that they completely missed the world record one-legged long jump taking place in the sandpit just in front - a magnificent springy leap. But then there are a lot of world records at a Paralympic athletics event, again because there are so many categories to score a world record in, and I think we saw nearly ten last night. If we were looking in the right direction, that is.
The Docklands Light Railway is 25 years old today. The Queen went for a ride back in July 1987, but it wasn't until 31st August that the general public came aboard. The London Docklands Development Corporation wasn't expecting their fledgling railway to be quite such a big hit. The first trains had only one carriage, the platforms were little more than elevated shelters, and there were only two short lines. Both ran to Island Gardens, the green line from Tower Gateway and the red line from Stratford, with both following former or existing railway lines for much of their length. Trains ran every seven and a half minutes during the day, which on the Stratford stretch is better than we sometimes get today. There was no Canary Wharf development at the time, except on the drawing board, so the tracks curved like a monorail across docks that still echoed East London's maritime trading past.
Bow Church: A true original, although dressed up and extended since. The giant grey shelter above the entrance is 21st century, but the brick kiosk between the lift entrances is original. One of the large white globe lights remains, the other recently disappeared presumed smashed. It's the platforms that would feel most familiar to 25-year-old passengers, even though they've been extended to two carriages and then three since [photo]. The curved blue roof covering used to be commonplace at all DLR stations, now it's rare, although only the section nearest Bow Road is original [photo]. But for the best example of ye olde 1987, check at the bottom of the stairs at the entrance to the southbound platform. One staff telephone remains, securely locked inside a metal casing, with "For Docklands Light Railway employees only" on a red and blue background in the original font.
Canary Wharf: Was due to open in 1987, but emerging plans for Docklands meant it was already being redesigned when the rest of the line opened, and the six platform trainshed didn't see service until 1991. Check the two fire escape staircases at each end of the station, because they're still labelled with 21-year-old signs reading "Push Bar To Open" and "Warning Automatic Railway Electrified Tracks". Not quite original, but a lovely echo of the past. [photo]
